


cardigan sleeves / concrete

by cicadas



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Scisaac - Freeform, semi character study, some niceness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:01:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23573554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cicadas/pseuds/cicadas
Summary: Isaac quirks an eyebrow, initially. He's still unsure of Scott, the way he's so habitually good, and how he's never ever asked him about his dad. It scares him, the unfamiliarity of peer kindness.
Relationships: Isaac Lahey/Scott McCall
Comments: 2
Kudos: 52





	cardigan sleeves / concrete

**Author's Note:**

> It’s a couple hundred words of interaction that ultimately doesn’t lead anywhere: can you get more Scisaac than that?

Scott gives Isaac a ride to Derek’s on a Tuesday.

  
Isaac’s carting two extra books for chem and lit, and one of the brick-sized laptops the library rents out now. It’s not like he can’t hold the weight, but it’s cumbersome. The angles poke into his arms the way the plastic shopping bag handles would cut off the blood supply to his fingers walking groceries home after school. It was a long walk, considering the school is about a mile away from any residential street, further still from the supermarkets. He did that twice a week, every week, to keep the fridge and cabinet stocked in his father’s house. He makes the trek to the bus stop to get to Derek’s every day. He’s greeted by an empty den of concrete, dim lights, and stale air. When Derek is around, he’s upright and willing to expel his anger on the nearest beta to his name. Sometimes, for Isaac, it’s like nothing has changed.

He lets go of his thoughts to pack them in his duffel bag, along with his wraparound scarf and his extra cardigan. The extra books barely fit. That's when Scott appears beside his gym locker, leaning against the metal of a door a few rows away, asking if he'd like a ride.

Isaac quirks an eyebrow, initially. He's still unsure of Scott, the way he's so habitually good, and how he's never ever asked him about his dad. It scares him, the unfamiliarity of peer kindness.

"You headed to Derek's for something?" He asks, slamming the locker shut.

"No. I can take you, though. It's not far on the bike." Scott replies easily.

Isaac keeps the eyebrow up, and Scott just laughs, tossing his fridge aside.

"Dude, It's not a big deal. Come on."

When Scott tells him something like that, Isaac can't not obey. He doesn't know why, but he can't. So he goes, nearly forgetting to pick up the handles of his duffel bag. He turns around when he remembers, but Scott already has it slung over his back like it isn't weighted with the entirety of his belongings.

He chooses not to say anything, and silently follows out to the parking lot where Scott's bike is stood. The duffel bag gets looped over the back, secured by the shoulder strap and Isaac's hand over it across the seat. He jolts forward when the bike stand is kicked out, and his hand instinctively wraps around Scott's middle, fingers clutching onto his jacket lapel and the cotton shirt underneath. The engine starts, and the rumble comes up through the seat to vibrate in his legs and arms. His fingers tighten, then loosen.

"No, keep holding on," Scott shouts through his helmet.

Isaac barely registers he hasn't put his on yet when Scott reaches behind himself and one-handedly shoves a dome of heavy plastic onto his mop of curls. It's meant for scooter, he's pretty sure, because it has a sleek visor over his face rather than the cheek-squishing foam and pointed muzzle of Scott's dirt bike helmet - no goggles included. It's funny, the shape of it. Almost like a wolf. Scott slides his hand off the top of the helmet to gently clasp the two buckles together under his chin, then he pulls the strap taut.

"Ready?"

Isaac's response gets cut off by Scott flipping his visor down.

"Great, let's go," Scott grins, then he faces forward, and his wrist is cranking down to turn the bike in a school-appropriate burn out out of the parking space.

Isaac grips on tighter, leaning his body forward so he can bump his chest against Scott's upper back for a bit of stability. The bike evens out once they get on the main road - not so many turns, not so much leaning one way or the other, and the speed gets up to 50 the further the streets get, the closer the woods get. Derek is still living - for some God unknown reason - in a gutted-out transit bus in a lower-level repair warehouse on the edge of the preserve. He's syphoned power out of the mains, so when Isaac sleeps there's the deafening hum of the fluorescents overhead, flies trapped in the plastic covering the bulbs, casting shadows over his face.

The glow makes Erica look sickly and Boyd kind of scary when he looks over them at night, when the buzzing gets too loud to fall asleep or stay asleep. Derek has the bus, with a makeshift bed, and they have the floor outside, where they fight and bleed and slowly knit themselves back together.

He's asked to have them shut off, the lights. Made a joke about needing his eight hours, and Derek didn't pull a face because his face never seems to change, just said 'Learn to block it out' and Isaac swears he would've dramatically slid his cabin door shut if it hadn't rusted out years ago. Erica and Boyd don't stay every night, rarely once a week, with Erica's mom being somewhat high-strung and Boyd having an Aunt he can stay with when he babysits after school. Isaac's met the cousin. He's cute, but a total asshole, and he wouldn't let him anywhere near the Player 2 remote of his Xbox, so the visit was awkward and short lived when Isaac realised he didn't have the best reputation law-wise (or school-wise) or anything to talk about with a ten-year-old.

No, he suits the flat, hard floor better than a sickly felt favour of someone he doesn't know that well. Forbid he ever try asking Erica's mom to stay over. His aches heal in the morning if he scratches at his legs during the night, or jabs his toenails into the arch of his feet. Or wakes himself up by cracking his skull against the concrete in his flailing of trying to get out of the claustrophobic space of the biggest room he's ever laid down in. Those nights, he's glad Derek is shacked up in the Wolfmobile and doesn't actually give a shit about what any of them do when he isn't telling them to do it. He can tuck his cardigan further under his head and stare up at the lights and see how far away the ceiling really is.

The bike rolls to a stop a few feet away from the main building, and Scott swings his leg out to prop the bike so Isaac can shuffle off the back. He unwraps and re-clips his bag straps to sling it over one shoulder, unsure if he's meant to say thanks or wave goodbye, so he just avoids looking at Scott altogether.

"I'll see you at school, then!" Scott calls out to his back.

Isaac flings up an arm in a nil effort wave, and begins to jog toward the stairs that lead down to the warehouse. He hears the bike rev and ride out not long after, the motor loud and clear long after Isaac has tossed his bag down and slid the industrial door shut.

"Second Tuesday in a row, Scotty. Long time, no see."

"I saw you during lacrosse five minutes ago," Scott blinks, like Isaac has somehow forgotten that.

Isaac bites his bottom lip, "So, you come to escort me home?"

Scott bends down and snatches up his bag, same as before, slugging it over his shoulder. At least this time he doesn't have the hundred-pound laptop - he had to give that back after the three-day limit. The lending period is longer for students with a good return record. Isaac is not one of those students having never borrowed a non-curriculum book in his life, so he gets shafted with the three day minimum. At least the librarian didn't openly inspect it for damages when he placed it on the returns desk.

"I've come to escort you to _my_ home. I may have mentioned to my mom that I gave you a ride last week and now she's making quesadillas."

"Someone knows how to get brownie points. D'you reckon I'd get a home-cooked meal if I piggy-back you all the way to the McCall residence?" Isaac tenders.

"You're getting a home-cooked meal already. Come on." Scott grabs loosely at the sleeve of Isaac's striped cardigan to indicate to follow him. Then just...doesn't let go. Isaac follows him like he's on a toddler harness through the school, nearly tripping on the back of Scott's sneaker because his eyes are squarely trained on four tan fingers and a thumb wrapped around dyed wool.

Isaac lets himself be led, sits on the back of Scott’s bike like he belongs, and holds onto the lapels of Scott’s grey denim jacket when they ride a little over the speed limit in the complete opposite direction to Derek’s hideout.

They get to the McCall residence only eight minutes later, and Isaac sits back on the parked bike with one foot stuck out to steady it, staring and the wonderful simplicity of a paved driveway and a weatherboard double storey.

He thinks about the concrete everything at the rail yard, or the cramped rooms of his dad’s house (now his, technically, when he turns eighteen in June). He doesn’t miss it.

He avoids a hug when he walks in from Ms. McCall, met with no reprimand, only soft hands and a soft smile, and kicks his shoes off in the doorway next to Scott’s. It feels normal.

Overwhelmingly, all-encompassingly normal.


End file.
